Page 20 of Bride of Mist
Not because mac Darragh was so well-formed. Any warrior who did a fair amount of drills developed muscles like his.
Not because her heart fluttered at the idea that she was wickedly spying on him without his knowledge. Feiyan la Nuit had a rich history of spying.
Nay, what stuck in her throat was the knowledge that she was supposed to slay him. She meant to steal back her sword and plunge it into that flawless body.
It was her duty. She knew that. For Rivenloch. For Scotland. For Hallie. She couldn’t let a monster like him loose on any more unsuspecting victims.
Still, the idea left a nauseating taste in her mouth.
She swallowed it down. It didn’t matter. Her feelings didn’t matter. This was a task that had to be done without emotion. Without mercy.
And the sooner she got to it, the sooner she could go home.
Balance the accounts, as her mother said.
Put the unpleasantness behind her.
And earn the respect of the clan.
So she steeled her jaw against the amusing sight of him traipsing through the brush in his undergarments.
She fought the instinct to take pity on him as he battled to start a fire with his wet flint.
She stopped her ears against his voice as he coaxed the tiny flame to life, alternately cooing to it with the tenderness of a dove urging its fledglings to fly and cursing at its stubborn reluctance to take hold.
While he busied himself with the fire, she glanced at her sword, lying on the grass, mere inches from the trout. She bit her lip. Could she steal down from the tree and retrieve it while he was distracted by the blaze?
Just as she extended one leg to start her descent, he came abruptly to his feet.
She froze.
Chapter 6
Dougal wasn’t alone.
He couldn’t explain how he knew.
But suddenly, the suspicion that had been troubling him all day—that someone was shadowing him—blossomed from a vague threat to an impending hazard.
Someone was very near. Watching. Waiting.
Maybe it was the mac Girics. Maybe it was the wee outlaw. Maybe it was a pack of hungry wolves.
Whatever the danger, it would do no good to make any sudden moves. Not until he knew more. Until he could locate what was sending a shiver of foreboding along his spine, it was best to act as if he didn’t know it was there.
So he whistled with nonchalance as he retrieved the trout and his dagger, heading to the riverbank to gut the fish. All the while, he casually scanned the brush, the reeds, the trees.
It was only when he was skewering the cleaned fish on a makeshift spit that he caught something out of the corner of his eye. Something out of place. A branch that didn’t look like a branch. A shadow that was more than a shadow.
In the tree behind his shoulder, a dark shape hugged the trunk.
It had to be the thief. Who else would travel through the branches of trees?
Dougal was impressed the outlaw had followed him so far. Perhaps the ladwasa dark faerie, after all, come to reclaim his valuable talisman.
Had he brought his fellows with him? Or was he alone?
Dougal supposed he’d find out soon enough.
